


cabin.

by georgeluz (eugeneroe)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen, gravity falls inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eugeneroe/pseuds/georgeluz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>skip joining malarkey at a cabin up in oregon. inspired by gravity falls with some references of the mystery shack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cabin.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time POSTING a fic so .. i'm sorry about weird phrasing.

**PROLOGUE.**

“So,” the passenger door slams shut, Malarkey sets some of Skip’s boxes on the hood of the car. His strained muscles take loosen their tension to relax after making his fourth round transplanting Muck’s belongings from his rented car and into the new cabin. A forearm rests on one of them. His head swivels to Skip, who he sees walking around from the driver’s side, “heard anything from Alex yet?”   
  
“Nope, except he’ll be able to make it here in two days,” Skip peeks his head to the side of the stacked boxes supported by his arms, marked with ‘Clothes’ and ‘Clothes Pt 2’, respectively. His met gaze is fleeting with Don’s as he passes him, continuing to peer ahead, across the gravel ground to wooden, but not entirely worn, steps.  
  
Woods surround them, cicadas not yet burrowed away for another seventeen-year hiatus chirping amongst the depths of trees. It mixes in with the occasional woodpecker prodding its beak against wooden bark or chirps of birds, fitting more as the surroundings of a cabin Skip makes his way inside. And which Don follows, grabbing the last few boxes.  
  
Every other step results in a creak of the wooden floorboards, emphasizing its age and usage. How much more human weight did this cabin have to hold, Skip cannot help but wonder. With a strained grunt, he hoists the boxes onto the upper floor when nearing the top few steps. The boxes land with a softer thud that dissipates from a breathy, yet relieved chuckle from Skip. “Did we get all the boxes?” He looks back down at Malarkey who’s standing at the foot of stairs, looking a little worn, himself.  
  
Malarkey doesn’t stop ascending the stairs because of Skip’s question, “Yep, that’s just about it. Move it, will ya?”  
  
“An ‘excuse me’ wouldn’t hurt,” he feigns apal but shoves his boxes beneath an open doorway leading to another room. More space granted.  
  
Don’s steps pick up, breezing by Skip to dump the remaining contents onto the bed in the room beside Skip’s. No sooner did he turn around, plop himself onto the remaining space of the bed, and let out a liberating sigh.  
  
“Wanna know about the other guys, too?” Skip asks as a hand props at his hip and he leans against the doorframe of Malarkey’s room.  
  
“What? Everyone else?” A pause, “You asked them to come here, too?”  
  
“Maybe. I think? It’s getting a little bit blurry -- think we’re gonna have to get something to eat so I can remember properly.”  
  
“But we just got here.”  
  
There’s a few moments of consideration as Skip folds his arms across his chest, tilting his head. A few seconds as if he’s thinking ‘huh, maybe I’ll make Malarkey’s life a little easier’ but he dismisses that little voice with a mischievous smirk. “Isn’t there a small diner walking-distance?”

\--

Sweet smell of brewed coffee and warm syrup coated pancakes fill the diner. The other patrons make friendly talk with some of the waitresses and the outdated television supported in the upper corner of the diner bleeds out a little static while broadcasting its news. Outside, from what Skip sees in their booth, is gravel stretching out, leading to a long-running road of asphalt, just to be walled by woods. It’s much different here than Tonawanda. Buildings of brick and concrete earth is what he’s often seen. “I can tell why you’re such a sap,” he comments with a smile. “There’s a whole lotta trees.”  
  
Don looks up from the diner’s sticky menu, the kind of sticky he’ll have to wet his napkin first before wiping his hands with, “No way, do you think so? How long did it take for you to think that one up?” He asks, mouth already breaking out a smile. He picks up a crumpled straw-wrapper and flicks it at Skip ---  
  
only to have it miss and land on a plate of food from the booth behind them.  
  
The waitress approaching their table glances at the disgruntled faces of the other patrons -- an elderly woman and her daughter -- who both glance at Malarkey: their soon to be new victim of their passive-aggression and hushed insulting exchanges. (Skip’s been stifling a laugh as Don’s mouth went agape). ‘Tammy’, as the waitress’ nameplate reads, whips out her notepad, breaks her attention from the two women, and offers the men a forced-friendly smile, “Now what’ll it be today? Are we both ready to order?”  
  
The two nod and set down their orders.  
  
When she leaves with their menus and the swirling irritation of their booth-neighbors settle down, Skip folds his arms at the edge of the table, “I can totally see why you wanna head out here.”  
  
“You feel it too?” Malarkey may have gone a little wide-eyed, relieved and impressed the effects of the oddness of this small town/mostly woodlands baited him to check out what’s around.  
  
“Oh, yeah. You kidding? I felt it ever since I got here,” Warren gives a lone head-shake, turns his sights out the window. With great emphasis, he adds: “All these trees.”  
  
That struck down Don’s relief, “No, Skip. I’m serious. You’ve just been here, so I’m sure you don’t know, but a lot of folks have gone missing. Even the news barely reports it.”  
  
“Define ‘a lot’ and ‘barely.’ Why wouldn’t the news report it?” Now he finds himself curious, picking up his straw and ripping open its wrapper. He plops it into his glass of water and takes a few sips from it.  
  
Malarkey takes a few glances at all the occupants of the diner, as if verifying no one would find their little discussion interesting enough to listen to, as if this were taboo about the town he just wasn’t supposed to bring up, and maybe for the best, too. When he looks back at Skip, he already notes the other’s captivation: lassoed in with interest and opening up his ears. “It’s exactly how it sounds: you know the shack I showed you? The one where we just moved in all your things? Someone else lived there before I rented it. Yeah, the place had a family of three living in there with two hired workers; used to be a tourist place. A tourist trap.”  
  
“That’d explain the sign. Mystery Shack but without the S.”  
  
“Exactly. Hang on, that isn’t the most interestin’ part yet. I’ve been in that house for a week and I’ve been hearing low -- like .. low humming. Sort of like a generator--”  
  
“Maybe it was one.”  
  
“You don’t think I thought that when I first heard it? I went to check around the cabin and the generators beside the house hummed, yeah, but this other one was louder. Much louder.”  
  
“But what happened to the family?”  
  
“I don’t know, Skip, I haven’t gotten to asking around, yet. Everyone else says they don’t remember or they’re lying.”  
  
The waitress returns with their orders: Skip ordering the usual waffles with sausage and Malarkey with pancakes, eggs, and two strips of bacon. She gave them a brief ‘Enjoy your meal!’ before leaving to refill some of the patrons’ coffee cups.  
  
“Anyway,” Malarkey unwraps his tied napkin bundling together his utensils like a silver bouquet. He plucks out his fork and starts cutting out a piece of his eggs. “What’d the guys say?”  
  
Skip, whose mouth already filled with a quarter of a sausage link, chewed quickly but made space for himself to let out his answer (thankfully not blowing out wet chunks of food). “Luz said he might make it tomorrow, same with Bill who might ask Babe. Dunno about Duke or Blithe. Toye asked me if we planned on hiking through the woods, I said I’ll ask you then I’ll get back to him, and … oh yeah, Sobel said hi,” a cheeky smile that just about hurt his cheeks filled with food. He resumed chewing and Don nodded slowly, thinking as he looked down at his food before continuing to eat.


End file.
